


Embers

by beekeepercain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Claiming, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Snow, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5521499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I wish you would stop acting out - you're so much more... <i>attractive</i> when you give yourself over. Doesn't Christmas mean anything to you, Sam? Why won't you play nice for me, just for today, take some pity on the one being who suffers the most on this day?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Embers

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas. Have another rape fic.

* * *

 

A dim light danced in the darkness surrounding the cage. It disappeared, glowing a shade of dim red for a blink of an eye before vanishing, and after it was gone, Sam no longer knew if it had been there to begin with, or if he'd imagined it all. His fingers tingled with cold, holding numb at the corroded but yet firm and solid bars separating him from the endless nothingness that surrounded the cage from all sides. He had no idea how long he'd been there: that was the magic the cage played upon his mind. Every day lasted forever, and when it died out, another took its place. Over and over and over again. He'd been there, collapsed against the bars in the corner of the cage, forehead pressed between them and one fist wound around the metal before him, for as long as he could remember. What had happened before, he wasn't so certain of anymore. It could have been anything at all, as memories now blended near seamlessly together with his imagination, and his imagination was almost dead - there was nothing there to inspire him, no hope and very little despair to ignite it anymore. What would he dream of in this place? Freedom, when he couldn't remember what the sky looked like anymore, when all memories he had of anything resembling home had long since been twisted by hallucinations, when the only touch he knew chilled him to the bone and beyond?

Another spark danced into his vision. Then one more followed, joining the other in spiralling in the darkness, like stars or some other kind of shining light that Sam's mind registered from the life that had been before this place. His eyes followed them around, his mind blank from thought, a weight upon his shoulders so heavy that he felt as if it was physically crushing him underneath. More sparks appeared, each of them disappearing one by one as they burned out. Underneath them, Sam noticed, a furnace was coming to life. He looked down and watched the fiery red glow grow little by little, almost unnoticeably, and in the heat that rose from it, the cage began swinging softly.

"It's Christmas above, you know," a voice spoke softly from behind him - much closer than Sam had expected.

It raised the fine hair on his neck and his body tensed, but he didn't move or speak. There wasn't any reason for him to do either. Nothing he did mattered in Lucifer's presence. The only thing that really got to the angel was his death, not in physical sense but in the mental; if Sam remained at a blank, reactionless to everything Lucifer said and did to him, he knew he was still winning, that Lucifer didn't get from him what he wanted the most.

"Would you like a little present, Sam? There's not much I can give here, oh - except everything. Take your pick. I can give you a pony if you'd like. You know I'd only give you the best."

The bottom of the cage vibrated with a new sound. A living, breathing pony walked slowly to Sam's side and then stood there, staring into the darkness with him with its black eyes reflecting the dancing sparks, the glowing embers.

"I don't want a pony," Sam heard himself say.

The soft muzzle pressed gently against his hair and the breath of the animal hit his skin in a warm blast, smelling of hay and wet earth. Sam ignored it, ignored the way the pony sniffed him before turning away, walking a few steps and vanishing into thin air. Lucifer let out a disappointed sound; he moved to Sam's side and sat down beside him.

"Too bad," the archangel said with a shrug.  
He didn't seem to see the dancing sparks. Sam kept staring at them when his hand brushed over his shoulder, moved into his hair. Reactionless. Dead.  
"C'mon. It's only Christmas once a century. What would you like?"

Lucifer's fingers pushed Sam's hair behind his ears, exposing his face from underneath. From the corner of his eye, Sam saw him look at him, but his own eyes were still aimed ahead, motionless. He wondered if the sparks reflected from him as well.

"Well, would you like to see your brother again? Because you know I can arrange that."

"I don't need another hallucination."

"Oh, I'll make it feel very, _very_ real."

Sam shuddered, but didn't answer. Lucifer's palm was now travelling down his back, following his bent spine towards his hip.

"How about - how about your girl? Jess? Or would that be too painful? You've always liked playing with her."

Slowly, Sam shook his head. Jess was better than Dean, but what Lucifer wanted of him, he didn't want to enjoy. With Jess, he could never know. Sometimes... it almost felt real.

Something landed on his hand. It disappeared before he could catch the sight of it, and it was that sensation which managed to tear his eyes away from the sparks outside. The ceiling of the cage was gone - instead, above was a uniform dark grey sky, and thousands upon thousands of snowflakes were falling down upon them. Lucifer watched him keenly, eyes unreadable but concentrated, unblinking. When Sam lowered his gaze again, the bars of the cage were gone; his fingers were now wound around a young tree, snow-covered like the rest around them, and he was sitting in the snow reaching up to his hip. A breeze ran through his hair, making him breathe out a shiver - cold didn't get to him anymore, but it was freezing out here anyway.

"Maybe you'd rather it just be... me..." Lucifer said softly, his palm now pressing against Sam's chest - stiffly, he managed to uncurl Sam's bent posture, and he kept pushing until Sam was on his back in the snow.

He ran his fingers down the man's body, took a hold of his shirt and brought it back down where it had climbed over his stomach, revealing a little bit too much skin for the weather. The snow was soft, but it melted slowly underneath Sam, who was now watching the sky instead. Snowflakes caught onto his lashes, but he barely blinked; beside him, Lucifer moved closer, bent over him and pressed a kiss onto his neck. The kiss was slow and light, but not gentle - Lucifer didn't know how to convey something like that, not with his mouth or his hand or any other part of him. The only way he knew how to touch was possessive, arrogant, and that was the way he held Sam, too. Like Sam was _his_ in every way that counted. Created for him. Molded from flesh, blood and bones just for him, all to his liking. Made _for_ him.

"Like a present," Lucifer's voice finished Sam's trail of thought.  
His eyes ran through the sight of Sam, over his body lying in the snow, and another breeze moved past them, bringing with it a flurry of snow. Snowflakes melted over Sam's lips and he closed his eyes, expecting the feel of the archangel's vision's lips upon his, the feel of his tongue gathering the water off of his skin.  
"I wish you would stop acting out," Lucifer spoke against his mouth, "You're so much more... _attractive_ when you give yourself over. Doesn't Christmas mean anything to you, Sam? Why won't you play nice for me, just for today, take some pity on the one being who suffers the most on this day?"

Sam breathed a cloud of mist as Lucifer backed out, still watching him. Sam's own vision was captivated by the canvas above, and he wondered if there was Christmas out there somewhere for other people, if somewhere, children were now gathering around the tree, snatching presents from underneath, tearing off the wrapping papers...

"That's... more like it," Lucifer spoke, his voice like velvet.  
It took Sam a moment to realise that he'd thought himself nude; each layer of colourful wrapping paper torn from a box of presents had painted a piece off of his own clothes, and he was now lying in the snow without anything on. It didn't surprise him. He'd been here for too long for any of Lucifer's tricks to surprise him anymore. But it did disappoint him, and he felt a spark of anger somewhere in a hollow pit within him - again, he'd played right into the angel's plan. Again, Lucifer could make it seem like he'd chosen this.

The snow bit angrily at his skin, prickling against his exposed buttocks, his shoulders already raw and numb from contact with it. He barely noticed it. He'd died of hypothermia a long time ago, and nothing since had felt like much.

"If you just weren't so angry all the time," Lucifer muttered as he ran his palm over Sam's chest, his stomach, and finally rested it over his thigh, "You'd be perfect. But you have to be just a little rebellious, and it's so hard to satisfy you. You're such a _project_."

Finally, Sam met his gaze, and he stared at him for a while without speaking. Then he turned away, feeling his eyes glaze over again, and his face fell into a blank. Lucifer moved over him again and just breathed over his skin, hovering just an inch above him avoiding contact as he moved down his body. He finally pressed a kiss in the middle of Sam's chest again, and Sam felt a sharp pain pierce his heart; it fluttered in agony for a moment before seemingly stopping, or at least Sam couldn't feel it in him anymore after that. His whole body relaxed, and a strange oblivion spread into his mind as well, like a high, like anesthesia - he felt Lucifer move over him, part his legs and pull his hips over his lap, now just as nude as he was, but the tearing pain of penetration didn't make itself known. He just held Sam there, palms moving over his body, tempting it, while Sam lay there almost literally dead in his hands.

"Is this the way you prefer it?" Lucifer asked him, and there was a tone of observing curiosity in his voice.

Sam shook his head, or tried to, but not much of it translated to action. The back of his head was wet from the melting snow, but his body was growing cold already, and there was very little feeling left in his skin wherever it met with the ground underneath him. The young trees shivered around them, shaking off fresh snow onto the ground and over Lucifer's shoulders.

"Tell me," the archangel spoke again, soft and sweet, "Tell me _how_ you prefer it. Let me make this easy for you. You don't have to like it. I can't force you to. But it doesn't have to be so... revolting to you. You know it's something you have to give - you know that you're mine, that you always were and you always will be - but I want to give back to you, too. So let me make it easy for you, Sam. Just this once."

A small smile appeared on Sam's lips and stayed there, frozen like every other part of him was. It took him a while to focus his eyes, but when he looked into Lucifer's eyes, he saw fire reflecting from them. Reality.  
"Take me back to the cage," he said, voice hoarse, barely audible.

Lucifer raised his brows.  
"Back? You want to be in the cage of all places?"

"I'm not a goldfish. I don't need an aquarium. I want reality, as it is; I don't need your lies."

For a while, the angel considered it. Then the snow started melting - the sky was blown full of holes that kept growing, leaking into different shapes, until it was the ceiling of the cage and Sam's numb back met with its mirror image, heated up from the hellfire underneath. It burned at him, but the change didn't matter. The pain was exactly the same regardless of the temperature causing it, and he lay there motionless, yet somehow more at freedom to breathe. He turned his head towards the dancing sparks and nodded.

"This is how I want it," he said, letting the words roll off his tongue and fall into the depths of the void around them, "This is how I know it's real."

He closed his eyes for the pain that followed. Of course none of it was real - Lucifer had no body, nothing to pierce through his flesh with, but his form was living fire, as cold as the snow in his creation, and its strength was enough to burn Sam's flesh when he entered it without permission. Anyone else would have been scorched to ashes from a single touch, but Sam was durable, his flesh tailored to meet Lucifer's exact requirements. It was his curse, to lay there as Lucifer moved inside him, a curse that had tainted him at conception, which had followed his bloodline throughout the history of mankind, and which had trickled past his lips when he'd only been six months old, sealing him for... this.

The ceiling of the cage reminded him of it: his eyes turned towards it as he felt Lucifer's energy fill him from the inside, and he smiled. All that planning... all that work... and he'd brought the angel right back here, at the very climax; he'd been the one to close up that chapter of the book. And if _this_ was the price he had to pay for it?

Sam reached his hand out, brushed it over Lucifer's neck. His hips bucked towards him, flesh sizzling as it tore off the burning floor, and he let out an empty chuckle, looking deep into the archangel's eyes. He could see the bottom of the cage in them, the furnace underneath - the flames that licked the souls somewhere far, far below them made Lucifer's blue eyes glow orange. Lucifer watched him back, eyes squinting ever so slightly trying to read his thoughts, but as firmly as he was holding Sam's body against him, he still had no access to his mind. Here, he couldn't take a vessel: Sam's yes or no didn't matter. They were two different entities, both equally trapped within the cage, both equally powerless, at God's mercy, and where was He? Sam closed his eyes and saw the sparks behind his lids, dancing and vanishing like they did outside the cage. He wished one of them would move through the bars, join them on the inside, but the barrier was stronger than that. It wasn't physical, but despite its invisibility, it kept things outside on the outside and things inside...

"That's it, Sam... You're mine."

_No. Never._

The irony of the situation burned more than the glowing metal on the bottom of the cage did. Sam felt it as he felt Lucifer grip him and bring him to sit on his lap instead, skinned knees resting on his both sides. That was the reason they were both here now to begin with: despite his consent, Sam had never truly been Lucifer's. Maybe he'd been promised to him - maybe he'd been made for him, but he still had his own mind, his own will, and he'd never bend those for Lucifer. Never had and never would. It was a splinter beneath the angel's skin, just out of reach, infected, festering, and he'd dig at it until there was nothing left of Sam, and even then he'd lose, he had already lost. He'd be reduced to picking up the broken bones and melting them back together, painting them with blood and shaping flesh around them until Sam was there again, in one piece, as perfect as he'd been created, and the vicious circle would begin again. There was nothing that Lucifer could give him, just as there was nothing Sam would ever give to him in return. There was no end to this, and maybe it was exactly as God had planned it. A quick glance to the ceiling as Lucifer thrust into him again gave Sam no answers, but it felt fitting.

Somewhere else, a child was alive, smiling as she opened her presents, safe and sound in the arms of her mother or her father, because of what Sam had sacrificed for them all. And what else could he have wished for Christmas?


End file.
